Every Mile A Memory
by The Noble French Fry
Summary: [3 different versions of a story. Not a 3shot.] Version 1 summary: Booth has a bit of a nightmare about Brennan. Version 2 summary: Every mile, there's another memory. [BB est. ship. Long Trip Alone part 11, but can be read as standalones.]
1. Version B

**Title:** Every Mile A Memory (version B, aka The Happy Ending)  
**Summary:** Booth has a bit of a nightmare about Brennan.  
**Warnings:** none for version B  
**Rating:** G  
**Pairings/Characters:** Booth/Brennan est. ship  
**Series:** Long Trip Alone, part 11/11 (can be read as a stand-alone)  
**Length:** 1,400 words  
**Genres:** fluff?  
**A/N: **Well, it's here. The end(s) to Long Trip Alone. A long five months after I started the series. Whew. Anyway, an explanation on the different VERSIONS of the story: originally, I planned a tragic ending to the whole story arc. But then my sister got peeved at me for the whole idea, and so I realized that the tragic ending wasn't going to work for everybody. So I created an alternate, happy ending. The story is set up so that you can read either ending (or both) and chose to believe whichever you wish. Version A (chapters 2 & 3) is the original, tragic ending. (Version A1 is the original, full-length, Version A2 is editted down to a manageable length). Version B (this chapter) is the happy ending.

Read on, and review!

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**Every Mile a Memory **

(version b)

(Long Trip Alone, part 11)

Booth could tell by Brennan's sudden, uncomfortable silence she had something to say. He doubted it had something to do with the case they'd been discussing since before dinner out, but was more likely something personal, about their relationship. And the fact that Brennan, who was rarely if ever apprehensive, was indeed uneasy made Booth quite worried himself.

"What's wrong, Temperance?" he asked nervously.

She shifted awkwardly and he knew for certain that she was uneasy. "Well, nothing's _wrong_," she answered shortly, and she looked down at the floor, not meeting Booth's eyes. "At least you won't think so."

Confused, Booth just blinked dumbly for a minute. "Oh-kay, then." He rephrased the question. "What's _going on_, Temperance?"

She looked unsure and hesitant for a very long, very anxious moment. Booth wondered if she was thinking up a way to try and dodge the question, or if she was going to even bother answering at all. But she was, after all, Temperance Brennan, and she answered the question in a typical Temperance Brennan way.

"I'm pregnant." Bluntly.

Immediately shocked beyond words and thought, Booth very nearly crashed before a blaring honk from someone behind him snapped him back to reality. He quickly swerved back onto the road and glanced over at his partner.

"WHAT?" he exclaimed.

"I'm pregnant," she repeated slowly and matter-of-factly. "There's a baby growing inside of me." Tartly and sarcastically in a way she'd learned from too much time around him, she added, "I thought that you'd know what that meant."

"How did this happen?" Booth stammered. At Brennan's pointedly raised eyebrow, he corrected, "Well, I know how it happened, but, you know, _how_ did it happen? I thought we had… protection?"

Brennan shrugged with a single shoulder. "I've got no more of an idea than you do."

Booth sighed deeply as he realized something. "You want to terminate, don't you?" He asked this softly and sadly, fearing he already knew the answer. And he didn't know if he could stand having created a baby with Brennan, only to have it so abruptly taken away before he could even hold it in his arms… It would be just—

"Actually, I don't know," Brennan answered.

Booth blinked dumbly again, and exclaimed, "WHAT?"

"Well… I know how much you would want a baby," she said slowly. "I still haven't changed my personal opinion on wanting children, and would abort, but… I don't know if I could do that to you. Besides, I think I would learn to love the child."

"You'd do that for me?" he asked breathlessly. "Raise a child, just for me?"

She bit her lip, then nodded. "Yes."

Even though he was rounding a turn, he glanced sideways at her as his heart welled with love for her. "Temperance, you have no idea what that would mean to me."

She looked up at him then, smiling and eyes sparkling, even in the dark. Then her form was lit from behind by a white light that Booth's mind automatically registered as headlights. And the light rapidly brightened as the car approached at a speed too fast for any sane, sober person.

Nanoseconds stretched as Booth realized what was happening.

But even with that, there was nothing he could do, and he realized it. Still, he opened his mouth to yell something, anything, at her that might warn her. Nothing had a chance to escape his throat before the world-shattering impact threw him around like a rag doll.

Even before the blackness took him—which was quickly—he knew that he'd just lost not only his lover, Brennan, but also his unborn child within her womb.

------------

Gasping sharply, Booth sat bolt upright in bed. It took him several moments and deep breaths to re-orient himself.

Then, with a deep sigh, he reached through the early-morning darkness to the other side of the bed to touch Brennan and reassure himself that she was still there. To separate that nightmare from this reality.

But his hand went right through where she should've been and hit only sheet.

His head instantly snapped towards the empty side of the bed, and his eyes confirmed that Brennan wasn't there. The sheets stuck to the sweat on his body as he tried to swing his legs quickly over the edge of the bed. He very nearly tripped and crashed to the floor instead.

But with rough determination, he snatched the blankets away from his legs and stumbled out of bed. A quick, frenzied check of the apartment revealed that Brennan wasn't there at all.

Forcing himself to calm down, Booth went back to the bedroom and swiped his cellphone off of the bedside table. He quickly pressed the speed dial for Brennan's phone and prayed she'd pick up.

Apparently, the prayer went unanswered.

A few seconds after Booth dialed, a ringing sounded across the room. He stood frozen for a moment, then slowly crossed to the other side of the room, with the ringing becoming slightly louder the closer he came to Brennan's side of the bed.

From Brennan's bedside table, he picked up her ringing cellphone.

Swearing under his breath, he closed his phone and dropped it beside Brennan's on the night stand.

He dressed in a rush, quickly jerking on a wrinkled—and probably dirty—suit and stepping into the nearest pair of shoes without even bothering to check if they matched. Then he pocketed both his and Brennan's cell phones, grabbed his car keys, and rushed out the door.

As he drove towards the Jeffersonian—the one place he could think of to check for Brennan—he forced himself to calm down. There had to be a logical explanation for this. He had to just be worrying for no reason.

Despite his attempts at tranquility, though, he found himself going a little faster than he should. He forced himself to slow down and turned on the radio for a distraction. When every song seemed to be about losing someone, he figured it wasn't helping at all and quickly shut it off.

He noticed again that he was going a little fast, but this time he didn't bother to slow it back down.

Then the faintly sparkling stars still left in the part of the sky not yet lightened by the rising sun reminded Booth sharply of Brennan's twinkling eyes in his dream. He tried to stay calm, but found himself becoming more and more anxious by the moment.

Then a pair of headlights from a car on the opposite side of the road startled Booth. And instantly he flashed back to his dream, back to the other car's headlights as it rammed into his.

And he panicked.

Already going a little fast, he was now _flying_ down the road towards the Jeffersonian.

And each of the remaining miles resurrected another memory of his cursed nightmare, and he became more panicked by the minute. And the more panicked he became, the more speed he coaxed out of his SUV.

By the time he finally reached the Jeffersonian, he surprised he hadn't been pulled over for speeding.

Pulling haphazardly into a parking space, he turned the SUV off and flung open the door. He bounded out of it and across the rest of the parking lot to the front doors. He blew through the security checkpoint to the lab platform, eyes searching frantically for Brennan.

Forgetting about the alarm, he bounded up the steps to the platform, taking them two at a time.

He spotted Brennan and rushed across the platform towards her as the alarm sounded behind him. The alarm drew Brennan's attention, and when she saw Booth rushing towards her, her eyes widened.

Barely slowing enough to avoid tackling her, Booth threw his arms around her appreciatively. "Oh, Bones," he murmured. "Thank God!"

She coughed pointedly, but Booth ignored the hint and didn't let go. "Uh, good morning," Brennan said slowly, awkwardly. "I know I had to come in a little early this morning, but—"

"You're not pregnant, are you?" Booth blurted, interrupting her.

Her eyes widened and she blinked dumbly for a moment. "Um, no," she answered.

His grip on her tightened. "Oh, thank God," he repeated.

Again, her eyes widened and she squirmed a little bit in his embrace. "Um, Booth?" she asked awkwardly. "Are you high or something?"

**THE END**

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**Please review!**

**And, if you dare, go on to read Version A! **


	2. Version A2

**Title:** Every Mile A Memory (version A2, aka Short Tragic ending)  
**Summary:** Every mile, there's another memory. Drowning, suffocating, he can't seem to reach the air he so desperately needs.  
**Warnings:** character death  
**Rating:** PG-13 for major angst and minor language  
**Pairings/Characters:** Booth/Brennan est. ship, most other characters make an appearance  
**Series:** Long Trip Alone, part 11/11 (can be read as a stand-alone)  
**Length:** 4,400 words  
**Genres:** angst, romance  
**A/N: **Well, it's here. The end(s) to Long Trip Alone. A long five months after I started the series. Whew. Anyway, an explanation on the different VERSIONS of the story: originally, I planned a tragic ending to the whole story arc. But then my sister got peeved at me for the whole idea, and so I realized that the tragic ending wasn't going to work for everybody. So I created an alternate, happy ending. The story is set up so that you can read either ending (or both) and chose to believe whichever you wish. Version A (this chapter & chapter 3) is the original, tragic ending. Version B (chapter 1) is the happy ending.

ON THE A VERSIONS: When I sat down to write version A (which has been over a month ago), I kept ridiculously adding on and adding on. And then I realized, "Oh, holy cow, I've written a 7,400 word fic! Nobody's going to sit through this whole thing!" So I went back and shaved a full 3,000 words out of it to make it a more manageable size. Version A1 (chapter 3) is the full-length version. Version A2 (this chapter) is the shortened version.

Read on, and review!

* * *

**Every Mile a Memory **

(version A2)

(Long Trip Alone, part 11)

The wheels kept on turning. The world around him kept moving. The road beneath him kept on passing. The speed kept building. He kept pushing it.

It wasn't enough.

He was drowning, suffocating, and he couldn't go fast enough to catch the fleeing air. Every time he thought he had it, he went under again. Because she was there, in every thought, in every fiber of his being, hanging around like a ghost that he couldn't quite shake.

Her memory pressed against his brain, stifling all other conscious thought. It wrapped its cold hands around his heart and strangled the very life out of it, taunting him by reminding him of what it was he'd had not too long ago.

He was trying to outrun her, but she kept finding ways to catch up.

It was so ironic…He'd had to chase after her before, unable to see her go, but now that he wanted to get away from her, she just wouldn't leave. She was still there, taking all his thoughts and crushing his heart. And right now, he feared that he had little hope of ever getting away from her. Because she just caught up with him too fast…

He pushed the accelerator harder, and the car's engine roared and murmured in protest.

He didn't let up, even as the very woman he was running from invaded every bit of his brain.

---------------------

_Eight months previous:_

_June 8, 2007. The date was forever after burnt into his memory._

_When his phone rang and the caller ID had said it was her, he hadn't known._

_Grinning from ear to ear, he'd just picked the phone up and cheerfully drawled, "Hellllllllooooo, baby."_

_She was at what was supposed to be a just routine doctor's visit. That much he knew; she'd told him so this morning over breakfast. But he didn't know then that there was going to be more to it than that. He just didn't know._

_He misinterpreted her silence and kept grinning happily. "In case you missed that, it was an imitation of the Big Bopper—" he went on._

"_Stop." The sheer sharpness of her voice forced him to do exactly that, and he blinked dumbly for a moment before the full force of it sank in._

"_What's wrong?" he asked, frowning._

_She hesitated for a long moment as the fear and dread gripped his heart tighter. Finally, she said, "The doctor found something today." She paused, then painfully added, "Cancer."_

_He took the news like a harsh slap to the face and his mouth worked fruitlessly open and closed for a long time._

_She seized the silence and went on in her detached 'forensic anthropologist' tone. "It's chondrosarcoma—a rare bone cancer that forms and grows out of the marrow. They found it in the spine at the base of the skull in a very delicate and difficult position. Given the rarity of chondrosarcoma, especially in the skull and spine, it's a wonder that they even found it at all. If they hadn't run—"_

_Booth finally regained his voice enough to interrupt, "Is it operable?"_

_She sighed shortly and kept her professional tone. "Yes, partially. Most of it is removable by surgery, but, given its position, there is a strong risk of paralyzation. Then part of it isn't operable. Chemotherapy will be required for that."_

_It didn't escape Booth that she hadn't yet referred to any of it in relation to herself. She spoke of the cancer as though it were an abstract occurrence happening to someone else._

_She was still in denial._

_The realization washed over him again like a cold wave. Cancer; she had cancer. Inoperable cancer that she was going to have to battle. Drawing in a shaky breath, he let his eyes fall closed. "Oh, Temperance…"_

_By the way her voice suddenly filled with weariness, he knew her defenses were crumbling. The realization was striking her too, and the denial was beginning to slowly wash away._

"_The doctor said if we'd caught it earlier, there would be a much better chance." Her voice sounded so small and far away. "He said that the chances of survival for most patients in this position are small."_

"_You aren't most patients though, Temperance," he reasoned. "You're stronger than the average person. You can fight this."_

_He could practically see her nodding on the other end of the line. "Yeah. I can try."_

--------

And she'd definitely tried. The month that followed the diagnosis was probably the most difficult, even if the cancer hadn't begun to show many symptoms at that point. It was the most difficult because that was the month that Brennan informed her father, brother, and all of her friends.

Everybody took the news very hard.

Booth hadn't been there when Brennan informed her family, but he had been there to support her when she informed her fellow squints she didn't know how long she'd be able to work with them. That she was going to work as long as she could, until she just couldn't do it anymore.

Angela had rushed up and carefully but reassuringly hugged her. Hodgins had expressed his extreme concern and remorse, and generously offered to find Brennan the best doctors money could buy, if need be. And then there was Zack.

Booth couldn't forget Zack's response no matter how hard he tried. Because Zack, after briefly expressing his concern, had observed in a stiff and unthinking manner that the situation was extremely ironic.

The bone doctor who solved murders was slowly being murdered by a cancer in her own bones.

Those words had haunted Booth for days after, and they still haunted him now. Because even though the words were rather insensitive, they rang true. The irony of it did seem like some sick cosmic joke.

And unfortunately, Brennan was the butt of it.

But she had fought it, and she had fought it hard.

----------

_Four months previous:_

_They had informed Booth and Brennan two months ago—just after the surgery where the operable part of her tumor had been removed—that chemotherapy was not a standard form of treatment for chondrosarcoma. But, given the position of the remainder Brennan's tumor, it was pretty much the only choice they had._

_Brennan had, after very little hesitation, agreed to the chemotherapy._

_She was unbelievably strong, but no matter how hard she fought, each bout of the treatment left her weakened. And seeing her like that always left Booth stung and weak himself. The dark semi-circles that formed beneath her blue eyes were soon mirrored by ones under his brown eyes._

_He prayed for her every day—and night too when he couldn't sleep—after that fateful day she had been diagnosed. At first, he just prayed that God would heal her cancer completely. When she began the chemotherapy, he also began praying that God would at least make her body strong enough to better endure the treatment._

_The day that he woke up to find two fist-sized balls of her hair scattered between her pillow and his, his hopes were dashed. He didn't pray for her that day._

_He was too angry with God to pray._

_The next day, at a check-up, Brennan showed the doctor where the hair had begun to fall out. The oncologist had unashamedly told Brennan that it was a miracle she had only then begun to lose her hair. That she should've already lost far more of it. Brennan was heartened a little by that news, but Booth took it as a blessing and a sign of hope._

_That day, he had started praying for her again._

-------

That day had been October 12. He remembered it as vividly as if it were yesterday and not four long months ago.

He remembered the faint smile that had lit up Brennan's pale face when she was told that she was already doing better than your average cancer patient. He remembered her wavy hair, framing her face perfectly, even though there were a few patches missing in the back. He remembered her blue eyes, shining with determination. She was going to beat this cancer. She knew it.

The mental picture of her was oh so bittersweet. Sweet in memory of his all-enveloping love for her in that moment; bitter in the fact that the love was still with him, even though she wasn't.

He forcibly shoved the picture of her from his mind. But even though he pushed the mental picture away, the essence of her and of that memory still lingered perceptibly in his thoughts.

He was still drowning, still suffocating in her.

The car protested strongly as he pushed the accelerator hard, but he didn't care. Obviously, he wasn't going fast enough to escape her. He had to have more speed; he had to get away…

He knew he was definitely breaking the law with this speed and that it was utterly reckless, but he couldn't give it up. Because maybe recklessness was what he needed right now. Maybe the carelessness could help him get away now.

But maybe the recklessness wasn't enough. Maybe _nothing_ was enough…

-------

_Two months previous:_

_Though she was fighting valiantly, she still seemed to be slowly losing ground._

_After every round of chemotherapy, it got harder and harder for her to go on as if life was normal. And it got especially hard for her to work every day. Booth tried to help her as much as he could, but it still didn't disguise the fact that her health was waning and she was becoming unable to work._

_For months, Booth and the squints—who had also observed Brennan's fading ability to work effectively—kept their mouths shut on the matter. Even Angela didn't dare say anything._

_And then came the day that Brennan practically collapsed in Booth's arms. _

_That was the first time that he dared suggest to her that she go home and stop working. And he got exactly the reaction he'd expected: she shook her head and swore it was nothing, she'd just gotten dizzy._

_Booth knew it was a complete lie, but for her, he let it slide._

_Doctor Goodman, however, was definitely not willing to let it slide._

_The next morning—December 23—when she and Booth arrived at the Jeffersonian, Brennan was immediately called into Goodman's office. Brennan thought nothing of it, but Booth had a strong suspicion about what she was going to be told._

_As Brennan headed off for Goodman's office, Booth sighed deeply and made his way to the catwalks above the labs. He leaned his elbows on the metal railing and sighed deeply. His eyes tracked people below him, but he merely lost himself in his thoughts._

_He'd only been standing there a few minutes when Angela came to stand beside him._

_Booth saw her approach and noticed that she stood silently beside him, but he made no move to acknowledge her presence. She obviously didn't mind as she settled beside him with a sigh, looking down on the lab just like he did._

_After a few more moments, Brennan appeared below. She hurriedly made her way across the labs in a bee-line towards her office. Booth could tell by the firm set of her shoulders that Brennan was hurt and angry. _

_He sighed shortly._

"_Goodman told her that she should take an extra long holiday until she was ready to work again," Angela said. She glanced down at the floor, then back up at him. "She's going to hate it like hell."_

"_I know," Booth answered simply._

"_This might be killing her now, but it's only going to make her fight her cancer harder," Angela observed. "Goodman might've just saved her life, but she'll never realize that."_

_Booth nodded. "Yeah, I know."_

-------

The Christmas Eve and Day that followed had been marked by Brennan's dour mood. Booth had braved the insanity of the stores to buy her more gifts, hoping to at least momentarily buy her happiness, but her mood hadn't brightened at all.

It wasn't until after the Christmas festivities had ended that Brennan's sense had finally kicked in and she brought herself out of the gloominess. It was then that Booth had realized the true depth's of Brennan's strength, as she really began to battle her cancer full-on.

He sighed to himself. It was remarkable that such a strong person could be wiped away so quickly, erased from existence.

His grief exploded anew, tearing open all of the wounds that he had been carefully stitching closed.

And he mentally kicked himself over and over again. After all of the effort he was putting into not letting her catch up with him, she was still holding on, still clinging to every inch of his memory and refusing to let go.

He knew that the speed wasn't helping anymore. He needed a new plan.

Since it was the most logical choice, Booth focused all of his attention on driving,. He slowed up so that he was at least going a speed somewhere in the general vicinity of the limit. It was then that he realized that he didn't even know where the hell he was.

Sighing at himself, he went back over details in his head.

He'd woken up this morning listless, tortured by his memories and the grief that they drew out. Halfway through breakfast, the thought of driving far, far away from home had struck him. He'd almost immediately jumped up and ran to pack in a hurry.

Late in the morning, he'd tossed a pair of packed suitcases in the back of his car. He hadn't known where he was going. He'd just been driven by the need to _get away_. That compelling need had pushed him to drive for nine straight hours now.

When he thought about it, Booth remembered stopping briefly at a gas station in Richmond, Virginia to fill up the car. He also remembered North Carolina and the state line of South Carolina. And after that, Georgia?

Yes, Georgia. He was in Georgia.

Asign came up, pointing the ways to Atlanta, Athens, and Augusta.

All of the A-named towns blurred together in Booth's mind and he had no idea towards which he should go. He surveyed each of the roads, hoping that one of them would somehow give him a clue.

Finally, he turned onto the road to Athens since it seemed to be the most central.

This road was quite different from the interstate he'd just turned off of. A lot narrower, a lot less kempt, a lot less cars…

In fact, it reminded him of one he'd driven down not so long ago with Brennan. Before he could stop it, his mind flashed back to it. _The case in Alabama, the conversation with Brennan after the case, the bar and grille they went to following that…_

Booth snapped himself out of the memory. No, he couldn't let himself go back again.

He tried to refocus his attention on driving, but all of his effort quickly came crashing down around him in a huge mess. Because every mile, there was another memory resurfacing.

The old church off one side of the road reminded him of a night when they'd sat in a church. Old theatre marquee signs displayed movies that he remembered taking her to see. Parking lots had an abnormally large amount of cars that looked like hers. Wild roses growing on a river bank were like the ones he'd given her on her birthday. The fiery sunset was like the burning determination and passion in her eyes. The stars already appearing in the sky were the same ones he'd stared at with her one night, not so long ago.

------

_Two weeks previous:_

_The door opened and Brennan's oncologist came into the room, looking down at what Booth assumed were test results. He flipped through the pages a couple of times, expression neutral, then closed them and looked up at Brennan and Booth with a smile on his face._

"_Doctor Brennan, I have good news for you," the oncologist said. "Actually," he corrected himself, "it's excellent news." _

_The doctor paused, and Booth could feel the anticipation grow. He was hoping for the best, but he wouldn't let himself __expect__ it. Better to be pleasantly surprised than unpleasantly disappointed._

"_Your cancer is in full remission, Doctor Brennan," the doctor said._

_For a moment, Booth thought his ears were playing tricks on him. The doctor couldn't have __possibly__ just said what Booth had been hoping for moments earlier. It really didn't seem possible._

_But then he heard Brennan take in a deep breath and looked over to see her grinning from ear to ear. That was a sealant: Booth knew it was real, knew it was true._

_The oncologist went on, "Between your last check-up and this one, your remaining tumor has shrunken eighty percent. There's barely any left, and it's my opinion that what __is__ left won't be for long. You won't even need any more chemotherapy or surgery, Doctor."_

"_There __is__ still a chance that the chondrosarcoma may return," the doctor added. "But there's just as much if not more of a chance that it won't." He smiled and moved to walk out the door. "I suggest you celebrate tonight. You deserve it."_

_Booth couldn't disagree with that._

_-----_

_No expenses spared dinner and drinks with the squints at Brennan's favorite restaurant turned out to be the "celebration." It wasn't anything overly extravagant, but it was enough of a celebration for Brennan. _

_The whole dinner—which lasted until the restaurant practically threatened to kick the group out at eleven o'clock—seemed surreal and hazy to Booth. Near eleven when he and Brennan climbed into his SUV, the haziness was still there. He wondered what it was and where the hell it came from, but he ignored it as he started driving towards home._

_In the passenger seat, Brennan sighed contentedly and slumped back against her seat. She smiled widely and looked over at Booth. "I did it," she said._

_He returned her smile. "Yeah, you did."_

_She went on as though she hadn't heard him, eyes looking unseeingly at the floor. "I really did it," she said with an almost wistful sigh. "I'd started to doubt that I could… I know it's only been eight months, but it feels like I've been fighting this for forever. But I beat it. I won."_

_Even though he was rounding a turn, he glanced sideways at her as his heart welled with love for her. "And I couldn't be more proud of you for it, Temperance. You beat death." _

_She looked up at him then, and smiled in return, eyes sparkling even in the dark. Then her form was lit from behind by a white light that Booth automatically registered as headlights. And the light rapidly brightened as the car approached at a speed too fast for any sane, sober person._

_Nanoseconds stretched as Booth realized what was happening._

_He opened his mouth to yell something, anything, at her that might warn her. Nothing had a chance to escape his throat before the world-shattering impact threw him around like a rag doll._

_Even before the blackness took him—which was quickly—the image of her face, framed by the blinding light, was burned firmly into his brain._

------

And the image hadn't left him yet. It was always there, taunting him and always dragging his memories along behind it. He guessed that the image, being the last time he ever saw his beloved partner, would never leave him.

Booth wasn't entirely sure he wanted it to.

Sure, it plagued him to no end now, ripping open his grief anew at intervals far too close together for his liking, but it _was_ his _last_ memory of Brennan. Did he really want to lose that? Did he want to forget?

He sighed at the paradox of the situation.

Did honoring the memory of the woman he had loved mean he had to suffer? Did remembering her mean that he had to rip his own heart out every time? Couldn't there be some kind of middle road that he could take?

If there was, he hadn't found it yet.

-----------

_Four days previous:_

_The other funeral guests were already sobbing, bawling, and whimpering around him, but Booth didn't plan to join them. He'd stood stonily still through everything so far, and he wanted to keep it that way._

_The funeral was untraditional: no preacher, no casket, no church, no cemetery. Just mourners gathered on a small, quiet beach. Even the service itself was unorthodox. There was no set structure; everyone was simply given the option of sharing a few words._

_Russ had been the first to speak. His address had been brief and nostalgic of the days when he and his sister had been inseparably close. Zack went next. His speech was equally short and centered mostly on how important an influence and teacher Doctor Brennan had been to him._

_Booth remained composed through both speeches._

_Then came Angela._

"_Temperance Brennan was my best friend," she started. Tears were already welling up in her eyes. "Not everybody got Brenn at first glance. Not everybody got Brenn even after a hundred glances. But I learned to understand her. _

"_A lot of times, she only made sense to herself and others with IQs as outrageously high as hers. But she always did what she thought was right. And she was a good woman for it."_

_Even though she was full-blown bawling now, Angela continued anyway. "She's going to be remembered as Doctor Brennan the world-renowned anthropologist and Temperance Brennan the best-selling author. But I think she should be remembered as more than that. I think she should be remembered as Temperance Brennan the good woman. Because that's who she was."_

_Booth was having trouble holding on now. He could feel the tears starting to form, though they weren't "welling up" quite yet. He tried to force them back down, but they rebelled strongly._

_Through the shimmering tears in her eyes, Angela looked up at Booth expectantly, silently encouraging him to say something._

_He cleared his throat and took a moment to fully compose himself. "Temperance Brennan was my partner," he began evenly. "In more ways than one. We were work partners for almost three years. She's been my life partner for almost two. We had a lot of ups and even more downs, but we worked things out._

"_Temperance was… headstrong. Willful. Proud. She believed what she believed no matter what anyone—even me—told her, and a lot of people didn't like it. But she always stayed true to herself. She was __always__ Temperance Brennan. She caught murderers, brought people closure, and even saved lives. I have no doubt that the world's better just for her having been in it as short a time as she was."_

_The tears __were__ welling up now and there was nothing he could do to stop them. "It was such a short time for such an extraordinary person to be in this world. It should've been much, much longer. But in the time she did have, she managed to touch a lot of lives. Especially mine."_

_The tears were freely falling now and Booth's voice was cracking, but he couldn't stop now. "I loved her. I loved her very much. And now I miss her just as much. _

"_People have asked me if I blame God for this." He swallowed against his own breaking voice, but forced himself to continue. "I don't blame God. I believe He has a reason for everything. But I do wish he'd allowed me to have more time with Temperance."_

_He turned his gaze heavenward as the blowing wind chilled his wet cheeks. "And I hope and I pray that one day, I'll get to see her again, and I won't have to miss her anymore." Looking down at the sand, he took a moment to halfway compose himself before looking up at Angela and nodding._

_She nodded back at him, then nodded shortly to Russ on her other side._

_The three of them—Booth, Angela, and Russ—all took a few steps towards the waves lapping against the sand, holding three small boxes tightly in their hands. This had been Angela's idea: the three of them representing Brennan's family, friends, and love, respectively, letting go of her ashes and letting her fly away._

_Angela and Russ simultaneously opened their boxes and turned them over, letting the ashes drift on a soft wind down to the water's edge._

_Booth, however, hesitated. But realizing that he had to, he opened the lid on his box and dumped the ashes into his hand. He held them tightly for a moment, knowing that all that physically remained of his Temperance was now in his palm. Gradually, reluctantly, he turned over his hand and began to open it, hoping to let the ashes drift away slowly._

_But a sudden gust of wind tore past him and past his hand, ripping the ashes from his grip and scattering them across the air in front of him._

-------

He hadn't let himself cry again since the funeral, but his cheeks were now damp with falling tears that he couldn't seem to stop.

Absently, through his blurred vision, he noticed that his speedometer had climbed again to a number well over the posted speed limit on the road. He backed off of the accelerator and let the indicator needle fall to a decent, respectable speed.

What in the world did he think he was doing trying to run from Brennan like this? Who was he kidding? He could never outrun her, and he knew it. She would follow him no matter where he went.

Maybe she would follow him for the rest of his life. Or maybe one day he would be able to get away from her enough to love again. Maybe he would never love a woman the way he loved Brennan. Or maybe one day he would settle down and get married.

He didn't know. He just didn't know.

What he did know was that now, for the moment, he still loved her far too much to get away. And he was going to stop running.

For now, he would let every mile be a memory of her.

**THE END**

* * *

**Please review!**

** And go on to read Version A1, if you dare!  
**


	3. Version A1

**Title:** Every Mile A Memory: The Author's Cut (version A1, aka long tragic ending)  
**Summary:** Every mile, there's another memory. Drowning, suffocating, he can't seem to reach the air he so desperately needs.  
**Warnings:** character death  
**Rating:** PG-13 for major angst and minor language  
**Pairings/Characters:** Booth/Brennan est. ship, most other characters make an appearance  
**Series:** Long Trip Alone, part 11/11 (can be read as a stand-alone)  
**Length:** 7,400 words  
**Genres:** angst, romance  
**A/N: **Well, it's here. The end(s) to Long Trip Alone. A long five months after I started the series. Whew. Anyway, an explanation on the different VERSIONS of the story: originally, I planned a tragic ending to the whole story arc. But then my sister got peeved at me for the whole idea, and so I realized that the tragic ending wasn't going to work for everybody. So I created an alternate, happy ending. The story is set up so that you can read either ending (or both) and chose to believe whichever you wish. Version A (this chapter & chapter 2) is the original, tragic ending. Version B (chapter 1) is the happy ending.

ON THE A VERSIONS: When I sat down to write version A (which has been over a month ago), I kept ridiculously adding on and adding on. And then I realized, "Oh, holy cow, I've written a 7,400 word fic! Nobody's going to sit through this whole thing!" So I went back and shaved a full 3,000 words out of it to make it a more manageable size. Version A1 (this chapter) is the full-length version. Version A2 (chapter 2) is the shortened version.

Read on, and review!

* * *

**Every Mile a Memory **

(version A1)

(Long Trip Alone, part 11)

The wheels kept on turning. The world around him kept moving. The road beneath him kept on passing. The speed kept building. He kept pushing it.

It wasn't enough.

He was drowning, suffocating, and he couldn't go fast enough to catch the fleeing air. Every time he thought he had it, he went under again. Because she was there, in every thought, in every fiber of his being, hanging around like a ghost that he couldn't quite shake.

Her memory pressed against his brain, stifling all other conscious thought. It wrapped its cold hands around his heart and strangled the very life out of it, taunting him by reminding him of what it was he'd had not too long ago.

He was trying to outrun her, but she kept finding ways to catch up.

It was so ironic…He'd had to chase after her before, unable to see her go, but now that he wanted to get away from her, she just wouldn't leave. She was still there, taking all his thoughts and crushing his heart. And right now, he feared that he had little hope of ever getting away from her. Because she just caught up with him too fast…

He pushed the accelerator harder, and the car's engine roared and murmured in protest.

He didn't let up, even as the very woman he was running from invaded every bit of his brain.

---------------------

_Eight months previous:_

_June 8, 2007. The date was forever after burnt into his memory._

_In retrospect, he was glad that he'd been alone in his office when his cellphone rang that day. Had he been driving, he was likely to have wrecked. Had he been with someone else, he would likely have said something angry to them that he would later regret._

_But when his phone rang and the caller ID had said it was her, he hadn't known._

_Grinning from ear to ear, he'd just picked the phone up and cheerfully drawled, "Hellllllllooooo, baby."_

_She was at what was supposed to be a just routine doctor's visit. That much he knew; she'd told him so this morning over breakfast. But he didn't know then that there was going to be more to it than that. He just didn't know._

_He misinterpreted her silence and kept grinning happily. "In case you missed that, it was an imitation of the Big Bopper—" he went on._

"_Stop."_

_The sheer sharpness of her voice forced him to do exactly that, and he blinked dumbly for a moment before the full force of it sank in. There was more than just roughness in her voice. There was pain, seriousness, dread, determination, anger, distress, disbelief…_

"_What's wrong?" he asked, frowning._

_She hesitated for a long moment as the fear and dread gripped his heart tighter. Finally, she said, "The doctor found something today." She paused, then painfully added, "Cancer."_

_He took the news like a harsh slap to the face and his mouth worked fruitlessly open and closed for a long time._

_She seized the silence and went on in a tone halfway between her detached 'forensic anthropologist' tone and that of a child rushing to get something off of their chest. "It's chondrosarcoma—a rare bone cancer that forms and grows out of the marrow. They found it in the spine at the base of the skull in a very delicate and difficult position. Given the rarity of chondrosarcoma, especially in the skull and spine, it's a wonder that they even found it at all. If they hadn't run—"_

_Booth finally regained his voice enough to interrupt, "Is it operable?"_

_Sighing shortly, she answered in her Doctor Brennan tone, "Yes, partially. Most of it is removable by surgery, but, given it's position, there is a strong risk of paralyzation. Then part of it isn't operable. Chemotherapy will be required for that."_

_It didn't escape Booth that she hadn't yet referred to any of it in relation to herself. She spoke of the cancer as though it were an abstract occurrence happening to someone else._

_She was still in denial._

_The realization washed over him again like a cold wave. Cancer; she had cancer. Inoperable cancer that she was going to have to battle. Drawing in a shaky breath, he let his eyes fall closed. "Oh, Temperance…"_

_By the way her voice suddenly filled with weariness, he knew her defenses were crumbling. The realization was striking her too, and the denial was beginning to slowly wash away._

"_The doctor said if we'd caught it earlier, there would be a much better chance." Her voice sounded so small and far away. "He said that the chances of survival for most patients in this position are small."_

"_You aren't most patients though, Temperance," he reasoned. "You're stronger than the average person. You can fight this."_

_He could practically see her nodding on the other end of the line. "Yeah. I can try."_

--------

And she'd definitely tried. The month that followed the diagnosis was probably the most difficult, even if the cancer hadn't begun to show many symptoms at that point. It was the most difficult because that was the month that Brennan informed her father, brother, and all of her friends.

Everybody took the news very hard.

Booth hadn't been there when Brennan informed her family, but he had been there to support her when she informed her fellow squints she didn't know how long she'd be able to work with them. That she was going to work as long as she could, until she just couldn't do it anymore.

Angela had rushed up and carefully but reassuringly hugged her. Hodgins had expressed his extreme concern and remorse, and generously offered to find Brennan the best doctors money could buy, if need be. And then there was Zack.

Booth couldn't forget Zack's response no matter how hard he tried. Because Zack, after briefly expressing his concern, had observed in a stiff and unthinking manner that the situation was extremely ironic.

The bone doctor who solved murders was slowly being murdered by a cancer in her own bones.

Those words had haunted Booth for days after, and they still haunted him now. Because even though the words were rather insensitive, they rang true. The irony of it did seem like some sick cosmic joke.

And unfortunately, Brennan was the butt of it.

But she had fought it, and she had fought it hard.

----------

_Four months previous:_

_They had informed Booth and Brennan two months ago—just after the surgery where the operable part of her tumor had been removed—that chemotherapy was not a standard form of treatment for chondrosarcoma. But, given the position of the remainder Brennan's tumor, it was pretty much the only choice they had._

_Brennan had, after very little hesitation, agreed to the chemotherapy._

_She was unbelievably strong, but no matter how hard she fought, each bout of the treatment left her weakened. And seeing her like that always left Booth stung and weak himself. The dark semi-circles that formed beneath her blue eyes were soon mirrored by ones under his brown eyes._

_He prayed for her every day—and night too when he couldn't sleep—after that fateful day she had been diagnosed. At first, he just prayed that God would heal her cancer completely. When she began the chemotherapy, he also began praying that God would at least make her body strong enough to better endure the treatment._

_The day that he woke up to find two fist-sized balls of her hair scattered between her pillow and his, his hopes were dashed. He didn't pray for her that day._

_He was too angry with God to pray._

_The next day, at a check-up, Brennan showed the doctor where the hair had begun to fall out. The oncologist had unashamedly told Brennan that it was a miracle she had only then begun to lose her hair. That she should've already lost far more of it. Brennan was heartened a little by that news, but Booth took it as a blessing and a sign of hope._

_That day, he had started praying for her again._

-------

That day—which he had once called "Renewed Hope"—had been October 12. He remembered it as vividly as if it were only yesterday and not four long months ago.

He remembered the faint smile that had lit up Brennan's pale face when she was told that she was already doing better than your average cancer patient. He remembered her wavy hair, framing her face perfectly, even though there were a few patches missing in the back. He remembered her blue eyes, shining with determination. She was going to beat this cancer. She knew it.

The mental picture of her was oh so bittersweet. Sweet in memory of his all-enveloping love for her in that moment; bitter in the fact that the love was still with him, even though she wasn't.

He forcibly shoved the picture of her from his mind. But even though he pushed the mental picture away, the essence of her and of that memory still lingered perceptibly in his thoughts.

He was still drowning, still suffocating in her.

The car protested strongly as he pushed the accelerator hard, but he didn't care. Obviously, he wasn't going fast enough to escape her. He had to have more speed; he had to get away…

He knew he was definitely breaking the law with this speed and that it was utterly reckless, but he couldn't give it up. Because maybe recklessness was what he needed right now. Maybe the carelessness could help him get away now.

But maybe the recklessness wasn't enough. Maybe _nothing_ was enough…

-------

_Two months previous:_

_She had been battling—no, __warring__ was more like it—with this cancer for six months now. She had been fighting the effects of the chemotherapy for four. Though she was fighting valiantly, she still seemed to be slowly losing ground._

_All of Brennan's beautiful hair was gone now, leaving her head completely bald. _

_Booth missed her auburn locks dearly, probably more so than Brennan herself did. When she had first begun losing the hair, he had strongly urged her to get a wig that closely resembled her natural hair. She hadn't, though. Instead, she only wore a scarf wrapped around her head._

_It was a constant reminder to both of them that she was still fighting this battle. And an open acknowledgement to the world that she wasn't hiding from the fact that she had cancer, nor was she hiding the fact from anyone else._

_But she lead her life just as she would if she hadn't had cancer. She still continued to do all the same things that she had done before. She still continued to work, just like he knew she would. _

_But after every round of chemotherapy, it got harder and harder for her to go on as if life was normal. And it got especially hard for her to work every day. Booth tried to help her as much as he could, but it still didn't disguise the fact that her health was waning and she was becoming unable to work._

_He never told her that, because he knew that not working would kill her emotionally._

_For months, Booth and the squints—who had also observed Brennan's fading ability to work effectively—kept their mouths shut. Even Angela, who was so often the one to tell Brennan things that she didn't want to hear, didn't dare say anything._

_And then came the day that Brennan practically collapsed in Booth's arms. _

_It came out of nowhere and it was sheer luck that he was close enough to catch her. He held her for a few long seconds before she reoriented herself enough to stand on her own. That was the first time that he dared suggest to her that she go home and stop working. And he got exactly the reaction he'd expected: she shook her head and swore it was nothing, she'd just gotten dizzy._

_Booth knew it was a complete lie, but for her, he let it slide._

_Doctor Goodman, however, was definitely not willing to let it slide._

_The next morning—December 23—when she and Booth arrived at the Jeffersonian, Brennan was immediately called into Goodman's office. Brennan thought nothing of it, but Booth had a strong suspicion about what she was going to be told._

_As Brennan headed off for Goodman's office, Booth sighed deeply and made his way to the catwalks above the labs._

_They were probably the only place in the whole Jeffersonian that Booth actually liked. Unlike the labs below, which were far too clean for his liking, the walkways up here didn't seem too sterile and cold. And they were high, too. Far enough above the hustle, bustle, and insanely high IQs that were constant in the labs to make Booth a million times more comfortable up here._

_Taking up a position where he could see the majority of the labs below, he leaned his elbows on the metal railing and sighed deeply. His eyes tracked people below him, but he didn't really pay any attention to them. He merely lost himself in his thoughts._

_He had only been standing there a few minutes when Angela came to stand beside him._

_Booth saw her approach and noticed that she stood silently beside him, but he made no move to acknowledge her presence. She obviously didn't mind though as she settled beside him with a sigh, looking down on the lab just like he did._

_After a few more moments, Brennan and her scarf-wrapped head appeared below. She hurriedly made her way across the labs in a bee-line towards her office. Booth could tell by the firm set of her shoulders that Brennan was hurt and angry. The people practically leaping out of her way were only an added clue._

_He sighed shortly. She was hurt, he knew. And disheartened._

"_Goodman told her she was 'currently unfit to complete her duties,'" Angela said. "He talked to me about it yesterday and asked me how he should tell her. I told him to tell her that she should just take an extra long holiday until she was ready to work again." She glanced down at the floor, then back up at him. "She's going to hate it like hell."_

"_I know," Booth answered simply._

_For a long moment, both of them were silent as they watched the corner of the lab near Brennan's office. Then she appeared with a box full of various items from her office in her hands, shoulders still set angrily._

"_Well, this might be killing her now, but it's only going to make her fight her cancer harder," Angela observed. "Goodman might've just saved her life, but she'll never realize that."_

_Booth nodded. "Yeah, I know."_

-------

The Christmas Eve and Day that followed Brennan's forced hiatus from work stuck out in his mind against all the years before. And not only because they'd been the most recent holidays.

They stuck out to him because unlike all of the cheery and joyful years before, this past Christmas had been marked by Brennan's dour mood. Booth had braved the insanity of the stores to buy her more gifts, hoping to at least momentarily buy her happiness, but her mood hadn't brightened at all.

It wasn't until December 26, after the Christmas festivities had ended, that Brennan's sense had finally kicked in and she brought herself out of the gloominess she had sunken into. It was then that Booth had realized the true depth's of Brennan's strength, as she really began to battle her cancer full-on.

He sighed to himself. So much strength and determination in one person…He still found it amazing, even after all of this time that he had known her and seen what she could do. But then again, when had Brennan ever ceased to amaze him?

But, even more remarkable than her strength was that such a strong person could be wiped away so quickly, erased from existence.

His grief exploded anew, tearing open all of the wounds that he had been carefully stitching closed.

And he mentally kicked himself over and over again. After all of this time, his efforts had just been reduced to nothing. After all of the effort he was putting into forgetting and not letting her catch up with him, she was still holding on, still clinging to every inch of his memory and refusing to let go.

He turned again the only thing he could think of to get away. More speed.

But it wasn't helping. He knew it wasn't helping. He needed a new plan, something else to wrench his mind and memory away from her grasp. Maybe he need to get away from himself, too. Away from the part of him that still remembered…

Since it was the most logical choice, Booth focused all of his attention on driving, and on the previously ignored world around him. He slowed up so that he was at least going a speed somewhere in the general vicinity of the limit and looked around for road signs. It was then that he realized that he didn't even know where the hell he was.

Sighing at himself, he went back over details in his head.

He'd woken up this morning listless, tortured by his memories and the grief that they drew out. Halfway through breakfast, the thought of jumping in his car and driving far, far away from home had struck him. He'd almost immediately jumped up and ran to pack in a hurry.

Then, late in the morning, he had tossed a pair of packed suitcases in the back of his car. He hadn't known then where he was going—he didn't think he even knew now—he'd just been driven by the need to _get away_. That compelling need had pushed him to drive for nine straight hours now, according to his clock.

When he thought about it, Booth remembered passing into Virginia early on in the trip, stopping briefly at a gas station in Richmond to fill up the car and continuing south. He also remembered passing through Charlotte, North Carolina at some point. And then shortly after that, he recalled the state line of South Carolina.

So South Carolina. He was in South Carolina…

A sign announcing that they were glad Georgia was on his mind flew past.

…or Georgia. He was in Georgia.

Part of him wondered how he'd gotten all the way down to Georgia and not realized it. But the rest of him knew the answer, and knew that he might still mindlessly drive further south yet—down through Georgia into Florida—if he lost control of his memories again.

Another sign came up, pointing the ways to Atlanta, Athens, and Augusta.

All of the A-named towns blurred together in Booth's mind and he had no idea towards which of the three he should go. He surveyed each of the roads, hoping that one of them would somehow give him a clue as to which one he should choose.

Finally, he turned onto the road to Athens since it seemed to be the most central of the three options.

It didn't take him long to realize that this road—state road 29, the sign read—was quite different from the interstate he'd just turned off of. A lot narrower, a lot less kempt, a lot less cars…

In fact, it reminded him of one he'd driven down not so long ago with Brennan. Before he could stop it, his mind flashed back to it. _The case in Alabama, the conversation in the car with Brennan after the case, the bar and grille they went to following that…_

Booth snapped himself out of the memory. No, he couldn't let himself go back again.

He tried to refocus his attention on driving, but all of his effort quickly came crashing down around him in a huge mess. Because she caught up with him again every way he turned. Every mile, there was another memory resurfacing.

The old church off one side of the road reminded him of a night when they'd sat in a church. Old theatre marquee signs displayed movies that he remembered taking her to see. Parking lots had an abnormally large amount of cars that looked like hers. Wild roses growing on a river bank were like the ones he'd given her on her birthday. The fiery sunset was like the burning determination and passion in her eyes.

The stars already appearing in the sky were the same ones he'd stared at with her one night, not so long ago. They didn't look like the same stars that they'd marveled at then. They looked far more distant and cold now, as empty and lonely as his torn and shredded heart.

------

_Two weeks previous:_

_Booth sighed. All of his work days had seemed long since Brennan stopped working almost two months ago, but this one had seemed especially dreary. He was tired, had a pounding headache, and Brennan didn't seem too talkative… _

_The last thing he really wanted to do right now was sit in a hospital room, waiting for Brennan's oncologist to come back with test results._

_But apparently, that was what he was doing._

_He sighed again, and randomly remembered that today was Groundhog's Day, February 2. "So, Bones…" he said. "Do you happen to know if the groundhog saw his shadow this morning?"_

_Instead of answering the question, Brennan replied, "The belief that a groundhog can extend the seasons or predict the weather is completely… irrational and idiotic. Basing a holiday on the idea is even more idiotic."_

_Shaking his head slightly, Booth had to chuckle at that. "Yeah, I know, Bones. But what're you gonna do?" He shrugged. "It's tradition."_

_Brennan opened her mouth to retort—Booth could tell by the look on her face—but she closed it again and smiled. "No, the groundhog didn't see its shadow," she answered. She rolled her eyes, but Booth saw the playfulness in the action. "Spring is coming soon."_

_Smiling back at her, Booth squeezed her hand. "Good," he said. "You know spring brings new life and new hope."_

_Her expression evened some and she nodded. "__Symbolically__, yes."_

"_Symbolically," he repeated, nodding as well. "Of course." He should've known she would say something like that. Despite everything that had happened to her in the past eight months, she was still definitely the same old Temperance Brennan._

_Just then, the door opened and Brennan's oncologist came into the room, looking down at what Booth assumed were test results. He flipped through the pages a couple of times, expression neutral, then closed them and looked up at Brennan and Booth with a smile on his face._

"_Doctor Brennan, I have good news for you," the oncologist said._

_Brennan's grip on Booth's hand tightened lightly, and he squeezed it back in return._

"_Actually," he corrected himself, "it's excellent news." _

_The doctor paused, and Booth could practically feel Brennan's anticipation multiply along with his. He was hoping for the best—that Brennan's cancer was in full remission—but he wouldn't let himself __expect__ it. Better to be pleasantly surprised than unpleasantly disappointed._

"_Your cancer is in full remission, Doctor Brennan," the doctor said._

_For a moment, Booth thought his ears were playing tricks on him. The doctor couldn't have __possibly__ just said what Booth had been hoping for moments earlier. It really didn't seem possible._

_But then he heard Brennan take in a deep breath and looked over to see her grinning from ear to ear. And was that glint in her eye from forming tears or simply a trick of the overhead lights?_

_That was a sealant: Booth knew it was real, knew it was true._

_The oncologist went on, "Between your last check-up and this one, your remaining tumor has shrunken eighty percent. There's barely any left, and it's my opinion that what __is__ left won't be for long. You won't even need any more chemotherapy or surgery, Doctor."_

_Booth could definitely see tears of joy forming in Brennan's eyes now, but she didn't let any of them fall. That didn't surprise him one bit._

"_There __is__ still a chance that the chondrosarcoma may return," the doctor added. "But there's just as much if not more of a chance that it won't." He smiled and moved to walk out the door. "I suggest you celebrate tonight. You deserve it."_

_Booth couldn't disagree with that._

_-----_

_No expenses spared dinner and drinks with the squints at Brennan's favorite restaurant turned out to be the "celebration." It wasn't anything overly extravagant, but it was enough of a celebration for Brennan. _

_Maybe it was just her bubbling joy at the doctor's news._

_Booth still wasn't sure he had accepted the news himself. The whole celebration dinner—which lasted until the restaurant practically threatened to kick the group out at eleven o'clock—seemed surreal and hazy to Booth. And he knew it wasn't from alcohol; he hadn't had any tonight._

_Near eleven when he and Brennan climbed into his SUV, the haziness still hung around in his mind. He wondered what it was and where the hell it came from, but he ignored it as he started driving towards home._

_In the passenger seat, Brennan sighed contentedly and slumped back against her seat. She smiled widely and looked over at Booth. "I did it," she said._

_For the briefest of seconds, he wondered what she meant. But then he realized that she was talking about the cancer. Being the first thing she'd said to him about the doctor's news today, the comment had simply caught him off guard._

_He recovered, though, and returned her smile. "Yeah, you did."_

_She went on as though she hadn't heard him, eyes looking unseeingly at the floor, and he knew that the impact of the news was still hitting her. He also knew that she was talking more to herself than to him. He listened anyway as she continued._

"_I really did it," she said with an almost wistful sigh. "I'd started to doubt that I could… I know it's only been eight months, but it feels like I've been fighting this for forever. But I beat it. I won."_

_Even though he was rounding a turn, he glanced sideways at her as his heart welled with pride and love for her. "And I couldn't be more proud of you for it, Temperance. You beat death." He wanted to add that it was a miracle, and that he thought she might've received a little extra help from a certain heavenly being, but he kept that part to himself. She didn't have to know what he thought._

_She looked up at him then, and smiled in return, eyes sparkling appreciatively, even in the dark. Then her form was lit from behind by a white light that Booth automatically registered as headlights. And the light rapidly brightened as the car approached at a speed too fast for any sane, sober person._

_Nanoseconds stretched as Booth realized what was happening._

_But even with that, there was nothing he could do, and he realized it. Still, he opened his mouth to yell something, anything, at her that might warn her. Nothing had a chance to escape his throat before the world-shattering impact threw him around like a rag doll._

_Even before the blackness took him—which was quickly—the image of her face, framed by the blinding light, was burned firmly into his brain._

------

And the image—despite everything that he'd done and everything that he'd been through since that night—hadn't left him yet. It was always there, taunting him and always dragging his memories along behind it.

He guessed that the image, being the last time he ever saw his beloved partner, would never leave him.

Booth wasn't entirely sure he wanted it to.

Sure, it plagued him to no end now, ripping open his grief anew at intervals far too close together for his liking, but it _was_ his _last_ memory of Brennan. The very last time he saw her. Did he really want to lose that? Did he want to forget?

He sighed at the paradox and the razor's edge on which he now sat.

Did honoring the memory of the woman he had loved mean he had to suffer? Did remembering her mean that he had to basically rip his own heart out of his chest every time? Couldn't there be some kind of middle road that he could take? Like he'd chosen the middle road to Athens between Augusta and Atlanta?

If there was such a road here, he hadn't found it yet.

-------

_One week previous:_

_He awoke from a deep sleep to the smell of sterility, the cold rhythm of chirping machines, dryness and a medicinal taste on his tongue, and an all-too familiar white light that he could see through his eyelids._

_Instantly, his eyes flew open._

_He was only partially relieved to see that the white light was a simple hospital light over his bed. A short glance around the room confirmed that he was wired to several machines, including the heart monitor that was making that incessant beeping._

_And there, just past the foot of the bed, conversing with each other, stood two forms that Booth recognized as his parents. And there in the corner sat his brother, Jared. He groaned slightly to get their attention—since he hadn't yet regained enough use of his mouth to form words—and all of them immediately turned to face him._

_His mother was at his side in an instant._

"_Seeley?" She made the sign of the cross. "Oh, thank God. We thought we might've lost you. You've been in a coma for a week." She gripped his right hand with one of her own and felt his forehead with the back of her other one. "How do you feel, dear?"_

_Booth surveyed how he felt. He saw the cast on his left arm, so he didn't even bother trying to move it. There didn't seem to be much feeling anywhere below his neck. But faintly, almost like a ghost of sensation, everything was sore and his body felt unbearably heavy. He wondered then if he had been paralyzed in the accident, but he found that with great effort, he could indeed move._

_Sedative, he realized. He had probably been heavily sedated, and it would take time for it to wear off. When it did, the soreness and aches would come to fullness._

_He moaned. "Like I've been hit by a car," he groaned out without thinking. When he realized what he'd said, he sighed and added, "Yeah, probably because I was." He tried to sit up, but at the raw, very clear pain that shot across his midsection, he fell back to the bed in defeat._

"_You cracked a couple of ribs, son," his father said. "And there was some of that internal bleeding, but the doctors said they stopped that." _

"_Still hurts like hell though, don't it?" Jared asked._

_Booth nodded. "Yeah."_

_His mother threw a warning glance over her shoulder at Jared, then turned back to her other son. "The doctors said it was a miracle that you got away with only this many injuries, Seeley," she informed him. "Your car was completely destroyed and the drunk driver that hit you died at the scene."_

_The memory came flooding back to Booth all in one overwhelming moment._

"_And Temperance?" he choked out through a tightening throat. "What happened to Temperance?" He already knew the answer. Somehow, he knew the answer. He'd known the answer even before he passed out at the scene._

_The sad glance that his parents shared was the cement that sealed it. He didn't have to hear his mother say the words to know what had happened to his partner._

"_I'm sorry, Seeley. She passed away at the scene. She was already gone by the time the paramedics got there."_

_The tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn't allow them to fall. Not here, not now._

_His mother continued quietly, informing him of what had gone on in the time that he'd been in the coma. "Her body was horribly mutilated, dear. I'm afraid there wasn't even enough left to bury her properly. Her friend Angela and her brother Russ had her cremated. They've been planning the memorial service as well. But Angela wanted to wait until you were well enough to be there until they had it."_

_Booth nodded numbly._

"_But from what I hear, Seeley, her will left everything to you," Jared said. "And I mean everything. Bank accounts, property, car, her latest manuscript… Everything. And with a woman that famous, everything is a lot. At least so I hear."_

"_Jared," his mother snapped warningly._

"_What?" he protested. "I just thought Seeley would like to know that she at least loved him enough to make sure that he was taken care of for the rest of his life. Hospital bills and all."_

_Booth found that information of very little solace._

-------

But, he realized, all that Brennan had left him was what now enabled him to take this crazy little trip he was on now.

Since his own vehicle had been so irretrievably ruined in the crash, hers had been his only real means of transportation since then. But, the day of Brennan's funeral/memorial service, he found that driving her car reminded him too much of her. He felt… wrong sitting in _her_ driver's seat. So he had taken it to a dealership and traded it in for a little, bland compact car that reminded him neither of Brennan's silver sports car nor of his black SUV where there were so many memories. One that got the gas mileage that had let him come this far with only one stop. With his SUV, he never would've been able to make the trip the way he was.

The sizable sum of money that Brennan had left to him were helping this little escapade as well. Never in a million years would he have thought that his partner had that much money hidden away in bank accounts. Yes, he knew she was wealthy from three best-selling books, but the amount still floored him. It almost made him sorry that he'd never discussed their finances with her before. And now the money let him run away like he was doing. He hadn't stopped to think about that before he left, but it was true.

In fact, he actually had the money now to run away indefinitely if he wanted to.

That thought _had_ crossed his mind several times since that morning.

He was still on personal and medical leave from his job at the FBI and would be for another two weeks or so. But he didn't know if, after only a month's time, he _could_ go back to work solving murders or go back to being the liaison with the Jeffersonian. Not with what had happened to his partner. Not with her gone.

He didn't know if he could ever go back.

-----------

_Four days previous:_

_He hadn't let himself cry yet. Sure, there had been tears that welled up and even a couple that fell when nobody was looking, but he hadn't let out the real sobs that he knew he was hiding. He knew that he was frightening his family—his mother particularly—by his refusal to cry and truly grieve, but he didn't think he was ready yet._

_He didn't intend to cry yet either. The other funeral guests were already sobbing, bawling, and whimpering around him, but he didn't plan to join them. He'd stood stonily still through everything so far, and he wanted to keep it that way._

_The funeral was untraditional: no preacher, no casket, no church, no cemetery. Just mourners gathered on a small, quiet beach. The only thing traditional about it was the mourners' all black attire._

_Even the service itself was unorthodox. There was no set structure; everyone was simply given the option of sharing a few words._

_Her brother Russ had been the first to speak. His address had been brief and nostalgic of the days when he and his sister had been inseparably close. There were tears in his eyes by the time that he finished, but no one else shared them yet._

_Booth found it easy to remain detached._

_Zack went next. His speech was equally short and centered mostly on how important an influence and teacher Doctor Brennan had been to him and how the Jeffersonian would never be the same without her. No one expected any less professional a speech from Zack Addy._

_It was harder, but Booth remained composed._

_Then came Angela._

"_Temperance Brennan was my best friend," she started. Tears were already welling up in her eyes. "She's been my best friend for so long, I can't even remember __how__ long." She paused shortly, then went on, "Not everybody got Brenn at first glance. Not everybody got Brenn even after a hundred glances. But, y'know, I did learn to understand her. _

"_Yeah, she was kind of weird a lot of times, and sometimes she only made sense to herself and others with IQs as outrageously high as hers. But she always did what she thought was right. And she was a good woman."_

_Even though she was full-blown bawling now, Angela continued anyway. "She's going to be remembered as Doctor Brennan the world-renowned anthropologist and Temperance Brennan the best-selling author. But I think she should be remembered as more than that. I think she should be remembered as Temperance Brennan the good woman. Because that's who she was."_

_Hands tightening on the small box in them, Booth was having trouble holding on now. He could feel the tears starting to form, though they weren't "welling up" quite yet. He tried to force them back down, but they rebelled strongly._

_Through the shimmering tears in her eyes, Angela looked up at Booth expectantly, silently encouraging him to say something._

_He cleared his throat and took a moment to fully compose himself. "Temperance Brennan was my partner," he began slowly, evenly. "In more ways than one. We were work partners for almost three years. She's been my life partner for almost two. It took us a year to figure things out—we were just both so hard-headed that way. We had a lot of ups and even more downs, but we worked things out._

"_Temperance was… headstrong. Willful. Proud. She believed what she believed no matter what anyone—even me—told her, and a lot of people didn't like it. But she always stayed true to herself. She was __always__ Temperance Brennan. She caught murderers, brought people closure, and even saved lives. I have no doubt that the world's better just for her having been in it as short a time as she was."_

_The tears __were__ welling up now and there was nothing he could do to stop them. "It was such a short time for such an extraordinary person to be in this world. It should've been much, much longer. But in the time she did have, she managed to touch a lot of lives. Especially mine."_

_The tears were freely falling now and Booth's voice was cracking, but he couldn't stop now. "I loved her. I loved her very much. And now I miss her just as much." _

_He reached at his neck and pulled one of the two chains hanging around it, letting it fall out of his shirt. In spite of all of his wants, Booth had chosen to honor Brennan's stance on marriage. He'd never really pushed it on her, nor had he said anything about the ring he longed to put on her finger. _

_But one day, probably near a year ago now, he'd gone out and bought a pair of rings. Brennan never saw either of them. Booth wore them during the day on a chain tucked beneath his shirt, right beside his Saint Michael medal. And when he came home, he tucked it away in a drawer that Brennan never opened._

_It was his secret, solemn promise to her. That he would always love her, no matter what happened._

_Fingering the rings, he realized that that promise now seemed so hollow._

"_People have asked me if I blame God for this." He swallowed against his own breaking voice, but forced himself to continue. " I don't blame God. I believe He has a reason for everything. But I do wish he'd allowed me to have more time with Temperance."_

_He turned his gaze heavenward as the blowing wind chilled his wet cheeks. "And I hope and I pray that one day, I'll get to see her again, and I won't have to miss her anymore." Looking down at the sand, he took a moment to halfway compose himself before looking up at Angela and nodding._

_She nodded back at him, then nodded shortly to Russ on her other side._

_The three of them—Booth, Angela, and Russ—all took a few steps away from the group of people and towards the waves lapping against the sand, holding the small boxes tightly in their hands. This had been Angela's idea: the three of them representing Brennan's family, friends, and love respectively, letting go of her ashes and letting her fly away._

_Angela and Russ simultaneously opened their boxes and turned them over, letting the ashes drift on a soft wind down to the water's edge._

_Booth, however, hesitated. But realizing that he had to, he opened the lid on his box and dumped the ashes into his hand. He held them tightly for a moment, knowing that all that physically remained of his Temperance was now in his palm. Gradually, reluctantly, he turned over his hand and began to open it, hoping to let the ashes drift away slowly._

_But a sudden gust of wind tore past him and past his hand, ripping the ashes from his grip and scattering them across the air in front of him._

_He gripped the chain with the rings on it and snapped it with a hard, swift jerk. Without thinking, he balled his hand into a fist and threw the chain, rings and all, through the lingering ashes and into the sea._

_The ashes followed after it into the ocean._

-------

He hadn't let himself cry again since the funeral, but his cheeks were now damp with falling tears that he couldn't seem to stop.

Absently, through his blurred vision, he noticed that his speedometer had climbed again to a number well over the posted speed limit on the road. He backed off of the accelerator and let the indicator needle fall to a decent, respectable speed.

What in the world did he think he was doing trying to run from Brennan like this? Who was he kidding? He could never outrun her, and he knew it. She would follow him no matter where he went.

Maybe she would follow him for the rest of his life. Or maybe one day he would be able to get away from her enough to love again. Maybe he would never love a woman the way he loved Brennan. Or maybe one day he would settle down and get married.

He didn't know. He just didn't know.

What he did know was that now, for the moment, he still loved her far too much to get away. And he was going to stop running.

For now, he would let every mile be a memory of her.

**THE END**

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